Fuck you, Real Housewives of South Boston! This project was born down on A Street and raised up on B street.
As I sit down in my best Doogie Howser, M.D. posture, ready to type my wit and witticisms in my best Kevin Arnold internal monologue, I am reminded of a confusing time in my life. It was in elementary school that I noticed I was different than the other boys. I would sit there in my 32 huskies watching my classmates change into Larry Bird shorts and and polo shirts. There was something about this routine that was foreign to me. My DNA felt a strange connection to this feeling, as if somewhere in the long-long-ago one of my distant ancestors might have shared this feeling. However in that moment, while the stars aligned signaling my generation’s place in the world, I felt numb. After a few weeks I finally worked up the nerve to ask my father the one question that could only come out with the strength and determination of a thousand Spartan soldiers.
“Father.” I said. “Why don’t I play soccer?”
“Drizzle.” He responded. “Our family left Europe so we would never have to see that fuckin’ sport again. Now shut up and get me a beer. The Red Sox are about to become the 1986 World Series Champions.”
Well it was a tough few months for your boy, The Drizzle, but I made it out with minimally one bleeding ulcer. It’s funny how things change as you step out of the classroom for the last time. Life turns into that great old racist Disney movie, Song of the South. Except this time, me and Uncle Remus pop a couple greenies and get shit-faced at Remington’s.
I missed out on a lot this semester, but I also learned some pretty valuable lessons. For instance, did you know Michael Jackson died? I was like, “Whoa.” That was a hit. I have a back order of snide comments to make about several news items that are way too late to be too soon, but still valuable lessons all the same. So without further adieu, children, I present Notable Quotables from The Drizzle.
Item Number 1: If you marry a successful, girl-next-door-sexy actress who just won the academy award AND you decide to adopt a brown baby from New Orleans with her…Don’t bend this girl over your coffin couch!
I’d like to discuss this week’s fanfare over the brief return of Nomar Garciaparra to Fenway.